The Sable Quean (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Buckler stopped pacing. He remained silent awhile, thinking hard. Then he gave his verdict. “Well, I don’t know what either Corim or Althier means. You say the vermin looked frightened when you said Althier, then he said Sable Quean. To my mind, Sable Quean must be the title for some vermin ruler. So it follows that she has others in her service. Many others, that’s why she’s a Quean. The young ones were stolen from three different areas. So for some reason unknown to us, she’s stealing small woodlanders. Hedgehogs, shrews, a mole and a squirrelmaid. Right?”

  A sudden thought occurred to Diggs. “Right you are, old scout. D’ye recall when we first met young Flib she was being attacked by those two vermin bullies? They had a rope round her—the cads were tryin’ to jolly well haul her off!”

  Buckler picked up his sword. “So they were. You see? That proves there’s a whole band of vermin roamin’ the countryside, taking young prisoners!”

  Granvy the Recorder scratched his chin. “So what can we do, except lock our gates, an’ keep close watch on our Dibbuns?”

  Skipper thumped his rudder down with such force that he startled the old scribe. “Well, we couldn’t do much afore now, but we’ve got an army o’ Guosim an’ two warrior hares alongside us. We’ll form a band o’ fightin’ searchers!”

  Buckler was in total agreement with the Otter Chieftain. “Aye, that’s the right move. We’ll leave Redwall during the night, in secret. Then we’ll hunt through Mossflower woodlands until we meet up with some o’ these vermin. We’ll ambush the scum and take some prisoners of our own. I’m sure if we ask ’em nicely, they’ll tell us all about Althier and this Sable Quean!”

  Diggs fondled his loaded sling lovingly. “Oh, I’ll ask the blinkin’ bounders nicely, you can jolly well rely on that!”

  Oakheart Witherspyk declared stoutly, “Well said, sirrah. Me an’ my gallant troupe are with ye!”

  Log a Log Jango shook his head. “Sorry, Oakie. Yore lot are actors, not fighters. Ye’d just be in the way out there. Best thing you can do is stay ’ere an’ defend Redwall.”

  Abbess Marjoram noted the crestfallen look on her old friend’s face, so she seized his paw anxiously. “Please say you will, Oakie. I can’t abide the thought of my Abbey lying undefended!”

  Oakheart Witherspyk gave her paw a squeeze. “Fear not, gentle Marjy. My troupe and I will guard Redwall with our very lives. To defend this wondrous place will be my honour and privilege!”

  Baby Dubdub tried, but got the words muddled. “Op pener rivilege!”

  Under cover of darkness that night, the party headed out into the woodlands by the small east wickergate. Skipper and Buckler headed the column, with Sniffy a way out front, scouting the land. Diggs and Jango brought up the rear.

  Everybeast was on the alert as they stole through the silent fastness of the woodland depths. A pale half-moon rode the scudding clouds over the breeze-swayed treetops. Behind them, the twin bells of the Abbey boomed the midnight hour.

  Diggs could not resist smirking a bit as he nudged Jango. “D’ye hear that, old lad? A marvellous sound, ain’t it? Couldn’t have been done without the new bellropes y’know. I carried ’em all the way from Salamandastron on me own. Indeed I did! Lord Brang entrusted ’em to me, of course. ‘Diggs,’ he said, ‘Diggs, you make sure that these bellropes reach Redwall safely. You’re the only one I can bally well trust with ’em!’ ”

  Jango hissed in the garrulous hare’s ear, “An’ did yore Lord Brang tell ye to get me killed when we’re out huntin’ vermin, by chunnerin’ on aloud all the time?”

  The tubby hare replied huffily, “No, he didn’t, actually!”

  Jango nudged him sharply in the ribs. “Then shut up, or I’ll shut ye up!”

  They had been on the go for quite some time when Sniffy came stealing back through a fern bed. He cautioned the leaders, “Somebeast ahead blunderin’ about in a stream. I think there’s only one, but I can’t be sure. Couldn’t get close enough without bein’ seen.”

  Buckler’s long rapier swished as he drew it from across his shoulder. “Right, Skip. Let’s take whoever it is.”

  12

  Thwip the fox jailer leaned against the door which separated him from the young prisoners in the cavern. Trailing the tip of his whip in the dust, he gnawed at a grimy claw.

  His partner, the vixen Binta, saw his furrowed brow. “Wotsa matter with ye? Yer look like you lost a goose an’ found a wren. Wot’s up? C’mon, tell me.”

  Thwip nodded at the prison cavern. “Somethin’s brewin’ in there, I’m sure of it, Binta.”

  The vixen shrugged. “They seem all right t’me. Huh, always ’ungry or cryin’ for their mothers. Same thing as usual. Hah, yore worryin’ over nothin’, mate!”

  The brutal fox shook his head. “No I ain’t. There’s somethin’ goin’ on in there, an’ I just can’t put me paw on it. Look, I’ll show ye.”

  Drawing Binta close to the door, he whispered, “Ye can always hear those liddle nuisances in there, movin’ about, whimperin’ an singin’ daft songs about their homes an’ families. Lissen close—there’s not a sound comin’ from in there . . . right?”

  The vixen took her ear from the door. “Right, but wot does that mean? They’re prob’ly sleepin’. Captives ain’t got much else t’do.”

  Thwip lifted the lock bar silently, carefully. “Now, watch this!”

  He flung the door open wide, almost knocking two small hedgehogs flat. He glared at Jinty and Jiddle, the Witherspyk twins.

  “Wot are yew two doin’ stannin’ there like that, eh?”

  Jinty was a good actress. She rubbed her stomach sadly. “We was on’y waitin’ for ye t’bring us vittles, sir. Will ye bring us some, please? We’re all ’ungry!”

  Binta took a practised glance around the interior. All she saw was huddled groups of young ones lying about on the floor and the low ledges at the rear of the badly lit cavern. She drew Thwip to one side, muttering out the side of her mouth at him, “Y’see? I told yer there was nothin’ wrong. They all look sleepy an’ down’earted. Must be through all the time they’ve spent in this gloomy ’ole. Huh, you’d be the same if’n ye was one of ’em. Bein’ short o’ vittles, too, I’ll wager that breaks down any spirit they once ’ad. C’mon, let’s get outta this dungeon, afore it starts t’get us down, too!”

  Thwip took a moment to peer about at the captives. “I don’t see nothin’ o’ that fierce liddle shrew, d’you? P’raps we’d best take a count of ’em, eh?”

  Binta was beginning to lose patience with her mate. “If’n that mad shrew’s gone off in a corner an’ died, well, who’s bothered? Less trouble fer us, I say. An’ as fer takin’ a count, d’yer know ’ow many are in ’ere?”

  Thwip coiled his whip up reluctantly. “No. Do yew?”

  Binta gave an exasperated sigh. “No, I don’t, an’ I ain’t about t’start countin’ ’em. Wot’s the matter wid yew, are ye goin’ soft?”

  Shoving Jinty and Jiddle to one side, Thwip stalked out, turning on his mate as she barred the door. “Lissen, smart-mouth—don’t yew start talkin’ t’me like that in front of the prisoners. I’m not ’avin’ it, so there. Just keep yer clever remarks to yoreself!”

  Binta was in no mood to continue the argument. “Alright, keep yer brush on. Cummon, we’d better go an’ get the vittles. That lot’s gotta be fed, ain’t they?”

  Back inside the cavern, Flandor, the young otter, hurried to the shield of grass, mud and woven twigs which disguised the tunnel entrance. Calla and Urfa, the two little leverets, were sitting with their backs against it.

  Lifting the two baby hares out of his way, Flandor removed the shield and called into the hole, “You can come out now—they’ve gone!”

  The Dibbun Guffy and his friend the molemaid Gurchen scrambled out, rubbing soil from their faces.

  Guffy spat out a fragment of wood. “Zurr, ee Flimbeast bee’s stuck unner a gurt root in thurr, we’m bee’s a-tryen t’pull hurr owt!”

  The young o
tter thumped his rudderlike tail impatiently. “Not again. That’s the fifth time she’s gotten herself jammed by roots!”

  Gurchen was a well-mannered molebabe. She curtsied prettily before replying. “Burr, thurr bee’s more rooters than ee cudd shake a stick at en thurr. Et b’aint gunner be no h’easy job, oi tells ee, zurr h’otter!”

  Flandor wriggled into the tunnel entrance, muttering, “I’m gettin’ a bit fed up o’ pullin’ little missy trouble out o’ roots. Ah, well, here goes!”

  Tura and Midda stood by, giggling as they heard Flib being hauled out backward by Flandor.

  “Yaargh! Ya great clod’oppin’ riverdog—yer rippin’ me tail out by the blinkin’ roots. Leggo!”

  “Oh, go an’ boil yore head, shrew. If’n ye tried pushin’ harder, I wouldn’t ’ave to tug like this. Stop moanin’, I’ll have ye out soon!”

  “Well, ’urry up, planktail, afore I suffercate!”

  They tumbled out together just as Jiddle called from the door, “Here comes the vittles. I can ’ear the foxes outside!”

  There was no time for Flandor and Flib to clean themselves up, so to cover their dishevelled state, they staged a fight in the middle of the floor. Actually, they were so mad at each other that there was little need for play acting. Thwip rolled the cauldron in on its trolley, followed by Binta with the water tub.

  The vixen grinned, pointing at the pair tussling in the dust. “There’s yore mad shrew, tryin’ to slay that otter!”

  Thwip curled his lip. “Hah, leave ’em an’ let’s ’ope they kills one another! Come on, yew lot. Line up ’ere if’n ye wants to eat!”

  Binta broke off serving water and set about the fighters with her water ladle, beating them hard. “Break it up, now. Stop this fightin’, d’er ’ear me?”

  Thwip sighed ruefully. “Yore right, mate. If’n anythin’ ’appens to ’em, ’tis us that gets it in the neck from the Sable Quean. You, shrew, any more trouble an’ ye don’t get vittles or water. Is that clear?”

  Flib snarled at her jailer, “No vittles, eh? Lissen, foxy-face, yew try that an’ I’ll stuff that whip down yer gullet an’ make yer eat it!”

  Thwip cracked the whip, making Flib jump back. “Ye can wait’ll the last t’get served fer that!”

  Zwilt the Shade sensed that there was something in the wind when Vilaya sent for him. Standing in her presence, he knew it was not bad news for him, or a reprimand. The Sable Quean invited him to eat with her.

  Two plump, freshly grilled rudd lay on a bed of dandelion leaves in front of her. The aroma of the cooked fish was mouthwatering. Allowing her servant Dirva to pour out goblets of pale cider, she smilingly beckoned Zwilt to sit at her side.

  “Ah, my faithful commander, I have things to tell you. Come, eat with me and enjoy!”

  Vilaya uttered a low, melodious chuckle, as the other sable looked hesitantly at the two fish. “Dirva, eat a small bit from each of these rudd, just to assure my brave friend that they are not poisoned. Take a sip from both goblets also.”

  The ancient rat sampled the fish, washing the fragments down with a sip from each drink. She cackled, showing the stumps of her gnarled teeth. Zwilt drew back as she clutched the hem of his cloak.

  “Heehee, still not sure, noble warrior? I’ll take your portion, if you so wish.”

  The Sable Quean smiled, dismissing Dirva. “Enough. See my cooks and get one for yourself.”

  Using a dainty rosewood spike, she speared a piece of fish, then swallowed it gracefully.

  “Now comes my time of triumph. Zwilt, you have served me well, but there is yet more to be done.”

  The fish was delicious. Zwilt cleared his mouth with a draught of the fine pale cider. “More, Majesty?”

  Vilaya’s glittering eyes held him entranced. “My army is ready now. We have a sufficient number of Ravagers but not to fight with—war is a fool’s game.”

  The Shade did not share his Quean’s view of things, but he nodded, eager to hear more. “Majesty, what do you intend doing with all these warriors at your command? They are trained and seasoned fighters.”

  Vilaya’s small pointed teeth showed; she leaned forward. “I know you trained them well, Zwilt. Nothing escapes the eyes of your Sable Quean. Listen now—go to the Ravagers’ camp. Make them ready to march tomorrow morn. Be sure they are well armed, as my personal bodyguard should be. It will be a display of my power and ferocity.”

  Zwilt bowed his head. “I hear and obey, Majesty. But why are you doing this?”

  Vilaya spat out a fishbone. She held it up, inspecting it. “Because tomorrow we go to the Abbey of Redwall.” Ignoring Zwilt, she turned to her servant, Dirva. “Go and select three of my young prisoners. They will accompany me.”

  The old rat hobbled off, cackling hoarsely, “So now the game begins!”

  Silent as night shadows, the Otter Chieftain and the Salamandastron Blademaster crept through the darkened woodlands. Skipper halted, keeping in the shelter of a small pine grove. He pointed with his javelin.

  “Stream ahead. Can ye see anythin’, Buck?”

  The young hare nodded. “Aye, there’s a bit o’ movement by those bushes skirtin’ the bank.”

  Any further discussion was cut short by an agonised groan and the sound of somebeast falling heavily into the shallows. They hurried forward, weapons ready and all their senses on the alert. Whilst Buckler guarded his companion’s back, Skipper waded into the water. A moment later, he was hauling something up onto the bank, calling hoarsely, “Ahoy, Buck, lend a paw, will ye? It’s a hare!”

  Between them, they heaved the limp form onto dry land. Buckler identified her immediately.

  “It’s Clarinna, my brother Clerun’s wife!”

  Jango came hurrying up with his Guosim warriors—he was mystified. “I thought all the other hares were back at yore badger mountain. Wot’s she doin’ here, mate?”

  Jango’s wife, Furm, made a quick inspection of the unconscious Clarinna. “She’s been wounded in two places, through the left shoulder an’ at the back of ’er skull. Looks as if she was like this for quite a while afore she finally passed out. If’n I was you, Buck, I’d get this pore beast back to Redwall an’ take ’er to Sister Fumbril.”

  Skipper agreed with Furm. “That’s good advice, marm. Jango, you’ll have t’go on alone with the search. Buck, me’n you’ll get Clarinna back to the Abbey.”

  Buckler began chopping down two sapling sycamores. “A stretcher ’s what we need. Diggs, you carry on with the Guosim. No need for you to go back to Redwall.”

  “Right y’are, old scout. I’d best take flippin’ charge around here, wot!”

  Jango thrust out his chin belligerently. “I’m Log a Log round ’ere. Now get in line an’ cut out the chatter. Move!”

  Diggs was about to make an outraged riposte, but Buckler gave him a hard stare. “Best do as he says, chum. See you when ye get back.”

  It was not yet dawn when Granvy came out of the gatehouse to open the main entrance for them. He grabbed a lantern and escorted them across to the main building. Abbess Marjoram, Drull Hogwife and Sister Fumbril rushed Clarinna up to the Infirmary.

  As the good Sister attended to her patient, Buckler explained the situation. “My brother Clerun and his wife, Clarinna, left Salamandastron some while back. I think they set up a small farm somewhere east of here. Neither of them were cut out to be warriors. They just wanted the quiet life, tending the soil an’ growin’ crops.”

  Marjoram rubbed Clarinna’s paw as she showed signs of reviving. “We didn’t know they were out in the woodlands. They’d have both been very welcome to visit Redwall at any time.”

  Buckler heaved a sigh of frustration. “Well, that’s my brother Clerun for ye, stubborn an’ stolid. She’s the same. That’s what prob’ly attracted ’em to one another. A real pair of loners. Abbess, you’ll have to pardon me, but I think I’d better get back on the trail an’ find this farm of theirs. I’ll need to see Clerun!”

  Skipper placed a
paw about Buckler ’s shoulder. “Ye’d be better waitin’ a bit, matey. See, she’ll soon be conscious—mayhap she’ll have a tale to tell. Then ye can decide for yoreself before dashin’ off.”

  Having bandaged and poulticed as much as she could, Sister Fumbril revived Clarinna with a few drops of old elderberry wine, which she kept for medicinal purposes. The harewife sat up, coughing and weeping.

  Marjoram spoke soothingly to her. “There, there. You’re safe amongst friends now, at the Abbey of Redwall, and look who’s here. Buckler!”

  Clarinna clasped Buckler’s paw tightly. “Oh, Buck, they slew Clerun and took our babes!”

  There was shock and disbelief in Buckler’s voice. “Slew Clerun? Who was it? Tell me, tell me!”

  Drull Hogwife patted the young hare’s back. “Easy, now. Don’t frighten ’er, sir. Tell us more about wot ’appened, Miz Clarinny.”

  Then the whole story came out. Though she was greatly distressed, Clarinna gave them chapter and verse.

  “Clerun and I were tending some apple seedlings; our babes, Calla and Urfa, were in a basket lined with moss taking their nap. Clerun was going to make them two little cradles from a nice pine log he had found. But now he’ll never make it or see our little ones grow up. . . .”

  She broke off, weeping bitterly.

  Buckler waited for her tears to subside, then spoke softly. “Clarinna, tell us exactly what took place. Was it vermin that attacked you?”

  Her eyes went wide with horror at the recollection. “They came out of nowhere—we were surrounded. A big gang of rats led by a tall, dark-furred beast. One of them carried a rat’s head stuck on a pike. The tall, dark one, he drew a broadsword, taunting Clerun until he was forced to draw his own blade. Then this strangebeast said that he would fight Clerun. I’ll remember his words for the rest of my life. He said, ‘Defeat me and your mate, the brats and yourself will go free. But nobeast has ever bested Zwilt the Shade, so you’ll die!’